


euphoric

by cudd13fudd13



Category: Euphoria (TV 2019), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:54:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cudd13fudd13/pseuds/cudd13fudd13
Summary: This is 51% Spider-Man, and 49% Euphoria. A combination of Peter's life, but Michelle's world and struggles to addiction as a concept. Will specify at the start of every chapter what episode will be spoiled.





	euphoric

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 1 Pilot

"This is the feeling I've been searching for my entire life. Because suddenly, the world went quiet. And I felt safe in my own head."

—

Fez had long abandoned the outdoor couch. He might have said something else after their proclamation about being too high, but Michelle had tuned out. Not on purpose, but due to her state.

Sighing, she straightened her glittery jacket and got up. Walking back into the house, she heard the commotion in the kitchen before she was able to see it.

Closer, she heard Nate scream, "So, who are you?" It was quieter, but still clearly exasperated.

"I'm just minding my own business. I'm not trying to start anything," said the boy backed up against a cabinet.

The screaming started up again by the time Michelle took her place with the kitchen crowd. She clearly saw what happened next. Something appeared to snap in the cornered kid's face at Nate's threat.

He grabbed a kitchen knife from the slicing board that still had half a lime on it.

"You wanna fucking hurt me?" the shorter boy said with determination, but also an expression filled with equal parts anger, and blaséness at the fact that a knife was in his hands.

Nervous laughter was the response from Nate. "No, I was fucking kidding!"

"Back the fuck up! What the fuck is your problem?"

"Put the fucking knife down, okay. It was a joke," Nate continued, now the one backed up against a kitchen counter.

"You wanna fucking hurt me?" the boy with brown hair repeated, slashing just below his own elbow. "See?"

"You're psycho!"

"I'm fucking invincible!"

"You're a fucking freak," Nate said as the boy smeared blood against his shoulder. "What the fuck?"

Arm still raised, the boy walked back, and faced the chattering crowd. His expression changed as he put it down.

"By the way, I'm" he started boldly, only to falter. "I'm Peter. I just moved here," and walked out.

Michelle smirked, surprise and amusement still on her face, and followed.

—

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Peter shouted in his mind. "Fuck". After getting some distance from the people that saw, his calm, collected retreat turned into a pace outside.

—

He was walking quickly, throwing the door open. And she had to run after him.

"Yo! Shit, uh... Are you okay?"

"Uh, uh, yeah. It's fine. It will... I mean, guess I knew that was gonna get violent, and I didn't want a fucking broken cheekbone or some shit."

"Yeah. No, no, I totally, like," spluttering. I get the logic behind it. But it's still, like, fucking insane." She laughed awkwardly as the two stared at each other.

The boy smiled a little in response, but tension was still in the air.

To break it, she offered her hand, "I'm Michelle."

"I'm Peter."

"Where you headed to?"

"Home. Probably."

"Can I come with you?" and the two stared at each other again. Michelle laughing lightly.

—

Once the bike was a distance from the party, and the blaring music could no longer be heard, Peter realized that he only knew the general direction he was going.

"Uh, Michelle, can you navigate." He moved one hand from the handle bars to reach his phone, but her hand quickly moved to put it back on."

"Just tell me your address."

"Thanks."

—

Peter moved to take off his shoes, and Michelle followed while he punched in a code on a pad.

They quietly moved up the stairs, with another "Shh" added for good measure.

Dropping their footwear, Peter took off his jacket, but only ended up snagging the cut.

"Let me see," Michelle asked, taking it in hand.

Peter dropped the arm after a moment, and sighed, flopping into bed. "This isn't new," he thought to himself.

"Let me get a towel," gesturing to the bathroom

"You don't have to," Peter quickly replied, only for the girl to throw him a searing look. "Thanks," resting his head back.

He got back up when she returned and took back his arm to gently clean the wound with a damp cloth. This was new, however, having somebody basically do it for him, and with such reverence.

The silence was peaceful for the first 5 minutes, but Peter felt the need to fill up the silence. "So... who are you Michelle?"

Michelle looked at him, and gestured to what her hands were doing.

"Sorry, stupid question," he nervously chuckled. What a stupidly broad, existential question to ask after an hour of knowing a person.

"Sorry, that was snarky," she whispered, but didn't answer the question, instead offering her own, "Where did you move from?"

"Queens. I, uh, lived there all my life."

"Why'd you move then?"

"There were deaths in... And I— we wanted wanted a fresh start.

She stopped cleaning, and looked him in the eye, "I'm sorry."

They held each other's gaze. Michelle's hand still in place.

"Thank you."

The intensity of the reply startled Michelle. She knew he said something else after, but she was stuck on how genuine that thanks was. It was quiet, but passionate. Petter seemed grateful. Truly, not because, she was here helping.

She finally snapped out of it, "What did you ask?"

"How was your summer? You know because there's like a few days left," Peter rambled. And looked back up at her. Michelle was looking at him, but she looked somewhere else.

Thinking that he asked another stupid, personal question, “I'm going to Easttown by the way, next week. For high school, uh junior...”

He was about to say more, when Michelle found herself and was back to staring with purpose.

"Oh same, junior too," she was talking quickly. That last question from him gave her an out. She didn't have to say what was thinking about say, but something within her pushed it out.

"Rehab. I was in rehab for the most of the summer."

She stood up suddenly and grabbed the bloodied towel. "I'm," gesturing towards the bathroom again.

Peter laid back in bed, twisting to see the first streams of light shine into the window. He loved that feeling of staying up all night. It was familiar. He derived a sense of child-like victory from beating the night and outliving it for the day.

He thought back to what he learned, but was broken out of the reverie by Michelle coming back with a first kit. She switched to rubbing alcohol and cotton balls.

"This is going to hurt," she said a little obviously to stop him from speaking, which he was about to.

He pouted, respectfully, and said nothing.

Michelle asked the next question. It was about living in New York. She didn't give him a chance to say anything beyond his direct response, asking question after question. Diverting. Verbally running. Even offering her own answers to her safe questions. By the time she began wrapping gauze, Michelle thought he got the point.

She finished and turned to put the gauze on the table. Peter quickly skirted to one edge of the bed, so she would have space. This was also new. All of this.

She did, and looked at him, "I've got an idea."

"What?"

"Wanna get high?"

**Author's Note:**

> Please give feedback. Is this interesting? Is there a readership crossover between Spider-Man and Euphoria?


End file.
